Of a Teenage Mind
by CoolBreeze39
Summary: In which, Danny finds himself in trouble, Steve *accidentally* comes to his rescue, but of course gets hurt in the process, and Grace, of all people, ends up saving them both! No slash. Never slash. Just good ol' fashioned brotherly love, and a reminder that sometimes Ohana is thicker than blood. (Rated T for mild language and detailed injury description) Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

_Thank you to the writers, developers, and actors of the Hawaii Five-0 television drama for creating this world in which we, the fans, can get lost in adventure. This story is simply my imagination, taking the characters places the show hasn't yet taken them, while we all wait **impatiently** for the next beloved episode/season to air. _

**_Readers, Enjoy! And thanks in advance for your support, comments, and professional critique! A story is only as good as it's audience, and so I'm beyond grateful for the time you've taken to read mine :)_**

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 ***** H5O Chapter 1 *****

Steve McGarrett sucked in a deep breath as he closed his laptop lid and sat back. In the silence of the empty office, he let the air out slowly, lulled by a faint whoosh that sounded much louder in his solitude then it would have if anyone had been present to hear. He pressed the heels of his hands against closed eye lids and leaned forward, elbows planted on the desk's smooth surface. A headache certainly wasn't anything new to the Navy SEAL Commander, but familiarity didn't have to mean tolerance.

Only three o'clock in the afternoon, and already he considered calling the day. Unusual, for him. Steve was typically one to prefer constant motion; a go-go-go from sunup to sundown. He lived for action, was powered by thrill. But today? Today, all he really wanted to do was sleep.

The glass door of his office made a quiet hinged sound, but he didn't look up. Probably, it was Chin, his fellow Task Force member, with an update on their latest case. Given that this case was the cause for his current headache and general lack of rest, the Commander wasn't particularly eager to hear what Chin would have to say about it.

Only, it wasn't his Lieutenant's voice that carried across the office space. "Back in Time-Out again, Uncle Steve?" The tone was cautious—gentle, as if speaking to a child.

If he'd been feeling any better, he might have laughed. The speaker, herself, was the child, not him. He drew another deep breath and lowered his hands, eyes blinking in the beam of light that pierced through his open window. "Gracie, hey. I thought you were with your mom this weekend. What're ya doing here?"

"Oh, I was. I am. It's just—" Grace paused, regarding the Commander with a calculating look. "Are you alright, Uncle Steve?"

"Alright? Yeah, Grace, I'm fine." She looked doubtful. "I'm good. Really." He rolled his shoulders once and widened the grin that was stitched to his tired face, hoping it would help to rest his case.

She shrugged. "Okay. Well, is my dad here? I wanna show him something."

"Your dad? No, he's not. He's not here right now. He thought you'd be with your mom, so he made other plans. Is she here with you?"

"No, she dropped me off. She's taking Charlie to swim lessons." Grace sounded distracted, though. "He's not here, then?" Her eyes cast around anyway, as if searching would reveal her father hidden among the bookshelves.

"Sorry, honey. But, hey. What did you want to show him? You can show me, ya know."

Grace offered half a smile, closing the distance between them and coming to stop beside his chair. "Check it out, Uncle Steve. Look what I just got." She laid a small rectangular sheet of paper on the desk beside his laptop, it's greenish-gray watermark a cozy contrast to the deep red of the cherry wood.

Grace's black and white smile stared up at him from the top half of the little page, and Steve beamed. "Your driver's permit? Gracie, that's—that's incredible. Congratulations! I'm so proud of you. C'mere!" He stretched out a hand and pulled her into his side, her arms wrapping around his neck as she kissed his cheek.

"Thanks, Uncle Steve. Test was pretty easy, though. I passed, no sweat."

"I wasn't worried, kiddo."

"Mom dropped me off to show Danno. He said, when I got it, he'd take me for my first drive." Her face fell, though, as she realized that promise wasn't likely to happen today.

"Ah. I see." Steve looked sideways at her. "Your dad's taken you driving lots of times. Why's this one so important?"

"I know he has. But this time, when I drive, I'll be legal."

Steve could only laugh at that. She had a point, he supposed. His partner had done an excellent job preparing his daughter for this next major milestone in her life. Steve was sorry that Danny was going to miss the final payoff. "Tell ya what, Kiddo. Your dad's teaching a strategy surveillance course to some junior detectives in the forest north of the Kawainui Marsh. It's about half an hour's drive from here. What'd'ya say we head out that way, you can drive me, and we'll surprise good 'ol Danno with your news. How's that sound?"

Grace looked hesitant. "I dunno. Danno always says I'm not supposed to take driving tips from you."

The Commander feigned offense.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Steve. I didn't make the rule!"

But Steve was laughing as he stood up from his chair and grabbed his truck keys. He pounded his finger against the driver's permit that still held it's place of honor on his desk. "D'you know what that right there says to me? That there says that you are now a _qualified_ driver, Miss Grace. That means you don't gotta take driving tips from anyone. You got it?" He winked, pressing the keys into her hand. "Let's go!"


	2. Chapter 2

***** H50 Chapter 2 *****

Grace Williams griped the wheel of Steve's truck with a tighter hold than she wanted to admit. Thirty minutes of driving, and it still felt almost too big to maneuver. It certainly wasn't the same as the Camero her dad let her drive when her mother wasn't around. She was sorry that Danno wasn't the first person she legally chauffeured, but Uncle Steve was an okay second. Especially given that he didn't offer a single bit of criticism or scrutiny. But how could he, passed out like he was in the passenger seat?

She'd thought he looked kinda tired when she'd walked in on him at his office. But Uncle Steve was a military man. And soldiers—what she knew of them, anyway—didn't stop for nothing. Certainly not for the elusive sleep that always seemed just out of reach to a man who'd seen combat. Grace shuddered, casting a quick glace to her right. She couldn't even begin to imagine the things that man had witnessed in his life. She worried over him for it. Sometimes, she hated him for it—for the way he forced that lifestyle onto her father and put him in harm's way. But mostly, like right now, she loved him for it. She was proud of his resolve and the sacrifices he made to make Oahu—her home—a safe and pleasant place to live.

Grace would have smiled as she turned her attention back to the road, if only she knew where it was exactly she was driving to. It was tempting not to pull out her phone and GPS the marsh that Uncle Steve had mentioned before they'd left his office. But for one thing, she couldn't remember what the marsh was called. And for another, she figured she was already going to be in enough trouble when her dad found out she let Uncle Steve be the chaperon on her first legal drive. Before today, she'd only ever driven Danno. And only on quick, five minute runs to the mini-mart for ice cream, or down the road to the beach parking. She really didn't need him to also be angry that she'd broken a viable law against distracted driving her first time behind the wheel.

Grace sighed. She'd have to wake him up, she didn't know what other choice she had. "Uncle Steve?" She laid a gentle had on his arm and shook softly. Nothing. She spoke louder. "Uncle Steve!" Shook him just a little harder. "Wake up."

He startled under her touch, eyes popping open as he lunged into the restraint of the seat belt. His sudden jolt startled _her_ and she pulled away from him. Her reflex jerked the wheel of the truck, swerving recklessly into the other lane. "It's just me, Uncle Steve!" She cried, trying not to over-correct in her fright as she guided the too-large truck back into its own lane. A passing car laid on its horn as it shrieked by.

Grace's heart was pounding in her ears so that she couldn't hear what the Navy SEAL Commander had said in the seat beside her. He seemed to have remembered his situation—the unfamiliar environment coming into focus as he blinked his tired eyes rapidly—because he laid a firm hand on top of hers, which trembled as it strained to keep the wheel straight. The pressure of his touch was calming. She forced her arms to relax; closed her eyes and made her breathing slow, as she trusted the vehicle's direction to Steve's steady hand beneath hers.

After an impossibly long moment, his voice fractured her defense. "Grace. Calm down. It's okay, we're okay. Deep breathes, okay? Grace?" To each word, she nodded, her foot careful to maintain a steady—if measurably slower than marked—speed while the truck continued along the stretch of road.

When her lungs had finally remembered how to work properly, Grace opened tentative eyes and risked a glace to her right. Beside her, the Navy SEAL was laughing. _Laughing?_ She'd nearly killed them, and he found that funny? Her father was right...this man _did_ have a screw or two in need of tightening.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Steve." She said softly, his lack of heated reaction coaxing the words from her mouth.

"Are you okay?" He asked her, the smile still toying at his narrow lips. She nodded, her grip stronger now beneath his own as she reclaimed control of the vehicle. "Of course you are, you're a McDanno kid."

Grace couldn't stop the sudden hysteric bark that tore from her stress-tightened chest. She and Will had dubbed the name for her father and his relationally-challenged partner when they'd suffered through one-too-many carguments with the two, agreeing that they acted more like a married couple than a working team. That her father had overheard them use the term once, was rather uncomfortable. That he'd obviously shared the story with his partner was humiliating. But that Uncle Steve could use it—and effectively, she might add—in the course of casual conversation, was just the kind of relief her anxiety-laced body needed.

"I'm okay," She said, "Only...maybe, never say that again. Okay, Uncle Steve?"

He shrugged. "If you promise to keep this truck on it's own side of the road, I'll consider. Also...We just passed our first exit."


	3. Chapter 3

***** H50 Chapter 3 *****

Sweat threatened Danny's vision as he crouched at the base of a large jungle fern. His pistol led from his reach like a natural extension of the arm, it's weight a comfort in his peril. _Breathe, Williams_ , he coached. _Just breathe._ To his right, he caught a hint of movement, a dark shadow ghosting past a bush, it's thin leaves waving gently in the breeze. Danny trained his gun on the advancing target.

 _Three...two...one...squeeze_. A shot rang out, and the dark-clad figure dropped with a thud. Five down. He wished he were counting enemy men, but it was the limited size of his 15 round magazine that concerned Danny most. Eleven shots left, and nearly two dozen men. His odds weren't looking good. Throw in the fact that everyone who was capable of helping him thought he was safely engaged in a training operation with some junior detectives of the Honolulu Police Department, and the fact that his cell got absolutely zero service in this God-forsaken jungle, and Danny may as well surrender while he still had breath to say as much.

He dragged a shaky hand across his forehead, clearing the perspiration that stung his straining eyes. This was all McGarrett's fault. No matter that his partner didn't even know there was anything wrong at the moment; Danny had come to believe that, given enough creative license, he could make every bad situation McGarrett's fault. Besides, it made him feel better. And that's what friends were for, right?

Another shifting shadow just to the left of the road he canvased. Danny raised his 9mm and waited. At just the right moment, he fired, his target dropping in instant death. By now, the rest of his pursuers would be closing in on his location, guided by the sound of his gun. Danny had to get out of there before they got so close he lost his cover. He sucked in a deep breath, edged back into the jungle thick, and cursed his—no, Steve's—terrible luck.


	4. Chapter 4

***** H50 Chapter 4 *****

A large, canvas covered convoy vehicle sped up behind the Silverado and Steve bit back the curse that tipped his tongue. He didn't want to worry Grace; really, he had no evidence whatsoever that worry was even justified. But he didn't like the way his stomach knotted against a sudden weight of uncertainty. He watched the approaching vehicle in his right side mirror and tried to track with the conversation.

"...should be _my_ choice, don't you think?"

Steve heard Grace's voice, but the words weren't registering.

"Uncle Steve?" An irate edge had come over her tone.

He smiled. When had she turned into a woman, his little girl? "I'm sorry, Gracie." He said, glancing toward her before he turned his attention back to the mirror. The vehicle was following just a little to closely. What had she just said? "Your parents only want what's best for you. They're just trying to keep you safe." That was vague enough to remain aligned with the general topic, right?

"I _know_ that. But having a gun _would_ be keeping me safe!"

A wha—a _gun_?! He really should have been paying attention. "Grace. You're only fifteen. You have to be twenty-one to buy a gun. Why do you think you need one, anyway?"

"Danno could buy the gun." She offered defensively.

Because _that_ wasn't illegal. Steve Rolled his eyes. "Danno could also just give you one of his."

"That, too."

"No, Grace, I wasn't—What I mean is... Look. Why do you think you even need a gun? Don't think your dad can keep you safe?"

"Of course he can. He does! It's just...I don't live with Danno. I live with mom and Charlie. Who do they have to keep _them_ safe?"

It was certainly a noble argument.

Just then, the convoy vehicle shifted left and accelerated, nearly clipping the left-side mirror as it passed. Steve saw Grace flinch. Saw her instinctively pull back from the window, causing the wheel to turn. The truck began to veer off the road.

"Woah there, Kasey Kane." He reached out to help her correct.

The convoy vehicle clipped the truck's front end, just enough to make some noise, as it pushed its way back into their lane. Grace shrieked, elbows locked as she gripped the steering wheel in both hands. Her foot was searching for the brake even while her eyes strained to shut the whole mess out.

"Okay, okay, Grace. It's okay." His tone was leveled, calming. "Keep your eyes on the road. Just—Just slow down the truck. No, not to fast! Just ease off it a little, good. Good, you're doing great. That's it." He had one hand on her shoulder, one on the wheel. "Are you alright? Grace?"

But Grace was beyond words just then; her mouth clamped shut, lips drawn thin in apprehension. She nodded stiffly, wide eyes glued to the canvas back of the military vehicle in front of them.

"What'd'ya say we go ahead and switch places now, huh?" She nodded again. "Okay, yeah. Just ease back, that's it, nice and slow. You don't want to startle the driver behind you, any more than he already is. There ya go, okay, just pull off onto the shoulder here. Good girl. That's good, Grace. We're okay." Steve forced a lightness into his words that seemed to shake her loose from her shock.

When the truck had stopped along the edge of the road, Grace sat panting, still white knuckled as she held on. "What's going on, Uncle Steve? Why are they driving like that?"

The vehicle stalled when it realized they were stopping, but once they'd pulled over, it sped off again. "I—I don't know, honey. But we're gonna find out. Here, hop over." He jogged around the truck to switch her seats.

Up ahead, the convoy vehicle made a sudden right, along the exit for Kawainui Marsh. Steve cursed as he watched it disappear around the bend.

"Where's he going, Uncle Steve? Why'd he turn off." Grace though for a moment. "Wait. Isn't that...?" She flashed fear-filled eyes in his direction. "Danno's in there."

"Yeah, he is, Kiddo. But I'n gonna get him out. Okay? Hey, Okay?" He ducked his head to meet her worried gaze. When she nodded, he nodded back. "I'n gonna need your help, though."


	5. Chapter 5

***** H50 Chapter 5 *****

Danny's breath came in short, labored pants as he leaned his back against a thick jungle tree. The marshy ground was too soggy to move very far off the road. His pursuers knew that well enough; he couldn't blame them, really, for taking advantage of their environment.

A shot rang out, clipped the tree above his head, raining splinters into his face. Danny sputtered. _Great._ He thought. _Just what I need, slivers in my tongue!_ Another shot; this one just beside his shoulder. He had to move. But Danny had been running for the last 20 minutes. Evasive strategies were getting more and more difficult to muster.

He spun backward around the trunk, taking careful aim. A deep breath in, hold, release with even pressure, the same even pressure that pulled back the trigger on his gun. He didn't even watch, using the recoil to propel himself backward and into flight once more. He knew the shot had hit true. But he cursed anyway. He didn't need more dead bad guys. Well, he _did_ , but more than that, he needed _one_ dead bad guy, all by itself, in close enough range for Danny to snag his machine gun without getting lit up by Dead Guy's buddies.

He swallowed a nervous lump, glancing down at his pistol while he ran. What was that now, 6 rounds left? He'd missed a couple times too, unfortunately, so the ratio between live enemies and the means to eliminate them was increasing at a dangerous rate.

Through the thickest trees to his left, Danny caught dark movement. Instinct drove him back from it, closer to the soggy marsh at the edge of the road. He heard yelling from behind and shuddered. They were herding him. Forcing him along a single path, and he had no choice but to comply. Only, Danny was tired. He didn't know how much more running he could do.

As if the thought were permission for his body to falter, his loafered foot slipped from a loose stone beneath it and he stumbled. Careful not to drop his gun, Danny stretched his palms out, bracing for impact. The thud forced the wind from his lungs and he lay panting for a moment, all to aware of the sound of approaching men.

Danny closed his eyes, face down in the soggy ground, and waited, his gun pulled in close to his chest. After a moment, he felt a boot against his back. He didn't move. Then, a hand reached down and rolled him over. Without thought, Danny let his years of training take over. As his body was pulled around, he let the motion guide his hands until he stopped, face up, eyes locked with his pursuer. In a split second, he'd fired, and the man fell, dead instantly, on top of Danny's trembling body.

Beneath the man's weight, Danny struggled to holster his weapon and pull the M4 from the assailant's dead hands. He could hear a party of men approaching, but he wasn't going to lay back and wait for an execution. Rambo style, Danny lurched forward, rolling the corpse from his chest, and rose on shaky legs. He would have opened-fire, certain that a rain of enemy bullets was coming his way too, but just then a speeding convoy vehicle screeched to a halt in the road next to them.

Danny didn't wait around to see who it was. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, he ducked around the back of the truck, and raced across the street, into the jungle thick. He knew there were hostiles stationed here, but he hoped they'd be called down at the approach of the new vehicle, and therefore, not catch sight of him running through the trees.

Only, when had Danny ever had such luck? Two men stepped from around a vine-wrapped tree and took aim. Danny, though, was already on the trigger, finger squeezed with no thought for how much ammo was spent. All he wanted was the two men dead, and his ability maintained to keep moving forward.

Somehow, mercifully, that's just what he got.


	6. Chapter 6

***** H50 Chapter 6 *****

Steve had no idea what they were rushing into, but all the signs pointed to something not good. He hated that he wasn't better prepared, but he hated even more that Grace was there with him. But what was he supposed to do? He couldn't just leave her on the side of the road and drive off. He sucked in a deep breath and looked sideways. She sat, hands clenched tightly in her lap, shoulders stiff and breath short. She was scared. Of course she was, _he_ was scared, though he'd never admit it to anyone. Had he been alone, the situation might feel different, but now he had her safety to think about, even before his partner's, and he'd do everything in his power to see it through.

"What's going on, Uncle Steve?" Her soft voice tore at the edges of his heart.

"I dunno, Baby. But we're gonna find out, okay?"

"What if my dad—what if he... Is he—"

"Hey, uh uh! You don't go there, okay? Grace? Rule number one about stressful situations: you _do_ not, under _any_ circumstances, start thinking about 'what ifs'. You got it?" She gave a weak nod. "Here's how this is gonna work, okay? We go in there, we find your dad, and we haul his sorry butt back outta these woods. End of story. Yeah?"

She didn't seem to register his words.

"Grace?" Steve laid a gentle hand on her arm, forcing her to meet his gaze. He tried for calm compassion, but it wasn't typically his go-to emotion. He hoped she saw it anyway. "Everything's gonna be alright. I promise."

"I know, Uncle Steve. I'm just scared."

She needed a job to do. "Try the phone, again, honey." Grace's phone battery had died somewhere along the drive out here. She'd apparently spent every single second of the morning texting Will. But Steve couldn't be mad. She'd been excited about her accomplishment. How was she supposed to know a reserve of cell power would come so much in handy later that day?

He watched her press the call button on his own cell, but a second later she was shaking her head. "Still nothing." She sighed. Someone _could_ have been jamming the signal. But more realistically, they'd just driven out of service, right? They _were_ in the mountainous jungle, after all. It was a struggle for Steve not to slam his fists against the steering wheel in frustration. He should have thought to call sooner. He probably should have just turned around, called first and not tried to do anything himself. Only, by now, he'd come too far. It was too late to go back. He'd witnessed one too many situations in which time would have made all the difference. And when his partner's safety was on the line, he wasn't willing to risk it.

He wanted to say something, offer council—a distraction, at least, from their peril—but nothing came to mind. Just as well, because up ahead, the passing convoy vehicle came back into view, blocking the road along the marsh. As he drove closer, three men stepped out from behind and opened-fire.

"Gracie, get down!" Instinct drove him. He reached sideways, forcing his partner's daughter to bend forward, out of the line of sight. At the same time, He slammed on the breaks and turned the wheel sharp, a controlled drift that slid his truck sideways, now parallel with the convoy vehicle that also blocked the road. This put the driver's side facing danger, giving Grace a little more protection. He could only hope it would be enough.

"Stay down, Honey. Unbuckle. Get all the way on the floor. Keep your head down." As he spoke, he cracked his window, just enough for the barrel of his pistol to stick through. He was grateful the raining fire hadn't shattered it yet. It would, though, he knew; it was only a matter of time.

Steve took careful aim and fired, picking the three off easy enough. In the silence that followed, he sucked in a sharp breath. "Grace?" He was too afraid to look. "Grace!"

"I—I'm okay."

"Good. Stay here." Without waiting for confirmation, he reached out and forced his truck door open. The rain of bullets had caused quite a bit of damage, and the handle mechanism stuck. A good solid wrench with his shoulder though, and it popped free. As he slipped from the seat, his feet connecting with the hard packed dirt of the road, a pain shot through his left thigh. In an effort not to face-plant, he grasped the swinging door, using a tight grip to help hold himself upright.

"Steve!" Grace had popped back up when she'd heard him grunt.

"No, I'n okay, Sweetie. It's fine." He forced his face to give the same message. "You stay down, I'n gonna be right back. Stay down."

His leg must have taken a shot through the door panel. He couldn't think about that now, though. If the SEALs had taught him anything, it was mission first, under any circumstance. He hardly even limped as he crossed the short distance to the convoy truck, his mind too focused to think about his pain.

The three men he'd shot were all dead. He didn't see anyone else in the area. Steve looked around, attending to detail as he took in his surroundings. No sign of Danny, or any other men. But he knew they were out there somewhere.

Reaching down, he pulled a tactical rifle from a dead man's hand and turned back toward his truck. He knew his Chevy couldn't navigate the thick jungle forest. To find his partner, he'd have to go in on foot. But Grace shouldn't have to come. He jogged back toward her, mindful now, of the pain that pulsed in his leg. He leaned his weight against the open door again, peering in.

"Okay?" He asked, as Grace's frightened eyes looked up at him from the passenger side floorboards. She nodded. He nodded back. "Here's what I want you to do. Hop on over here, Miss Qualified Legal Driver. You're gonna take this truck back the way we came. When you drive far enough to reach a signal, pull over and call 911. Tell them to contact the rest of the team. Okay? Can you do that, Honey?"

Her nod was weak, but he had faith in her. Already, he could see she had her father's courage, even when fear threatened logical thinking. He reached in and patted the driver's seat. "Right here, Gracie. She's all yours."

"I hate your truck, Uncle Steve." But the smallest of teenage defiance lit her expression and he knew she was trying.

"You drive it off the road again, and it's not gonna like you anymore, either." His smile cracked her own, and he reached out to pull her up. "You be careful. Remember. Call as soon as you have service."

He'd just stepped back to close the door and see her off, though, when headlights shone along the road where they'd come. Were they friend, or foe? Steve didn't typically enjoy a gamble with such high stakes. Certainly not when Grace would be effected by it. He couldn't take the risk.

"Uh...on second thought, Monkey, why don't you climb down here with me." The use of her father's nickname was meant to keep Grace calm. But the fact that he'd never called her it before seemed to force the opposite.

She flashed a terrified stare and froze. Behind her, Steve could see the second convoy vehicle approaching quick. Definitely not friendly. He reaching in and pulled her down from the seat. "C'mon Grace. Run!"

As they broke for the cover of the jungle, they heard guns fire behind. Without looking, Steve swung his M4 under his right arm and squeezed. It may have been a waste of ammunition, but if it caused their assailants to stall, it'd be worth it. The two didn't slow as the thick jungle sprung up around them. Deeper and deeper, they ran into the forest, not knowing for certain, but praying that Danny would be in there somewhere, waiting for them.


	7. Chapter 7

***** H50 Chapter 7 *****

Danny's hands trembled as he released the trigger of his P30 handgun for the last time. It's final round sailed smoothly through the dense jungle, and would have hit true, had his target not dropped unexpectedly into a crouch at the very last second. Bad luck.

Danny cursed, trying to duck into cover. A rain of return fire was sure to come his way, now that he'd given up his location. He looked down at his empty pistol and swore again. He could throw it at a guy, he supposed, but maybe that wouldn't do a whole lot to help the situation. He holstered the gun instead, and swung the M4 tactical rifle he'd picked up earlier, around his shoulder on it's strap. This one was empty too, but it would make a better bat for beating, and Danny wouldn't care if it broke or was taken from him. Well, he'd care because that would leave him essentially defenseless, but he wouldn't miss the gun. Okay, he'd miss not having the added protection, but the gun wasn't his to— _stop!_ Danny closed his eyes for just a second, forcing a deep breath to fill his lungs. He had to get a grip. Focus.

Footsteps in the loose leaves of the forest floor. The men were approaching. There were three of them—would have been two, if Lucky Charms hadn't needed to tie his shoe—and Danny was almost certain they were the ones in charge. He checked his grip on the rifle, wet his lips with a nervous swallow, and waited.

Three...Two...One... Danny leaped up from his crouch beside the narrow trail, a barbaric war cry erupting from his mouth, loud and vicious enough to surprise even him. He forced the flat side of the rifle into the first assailant's chest, shoving him backward with enough force to knock him from his feet. As that man toppled over, Danny pivoted away from him, pulling the gun's strap from his arm and swinging it so that the stock connected with a solid smack against another assailant's bare cheeked face. The man grunted, turning away, but Danny was already onto the last man. This one small; unnaturally agile as he flipped and twisted in the tight clearing. Lucky Charms; it had to be.

Danny's eyes danced with fervor as he tried to track the leprechaun's quick movements. His rifle made a good block, but the guy was too fast to take a hit from him. Danny knew he'd be worn out long before this fight would have a chance of turning in his favor. He needed some advantage.

He'd fought a drug-head in Jersey once, that moved like this, wild and unpredictable. It wasn't easy, but he'd finally been able to corner the kid, trap him in so he had no space for his antics. As Danny looked around the dense jungle though, he wasn't hopeful of his surroundings. Thin ferns and overgrown bushes didn't exactly hold the weight of a solid barroom wall.

A heavy fist to his temple brought Danny back to the present, his body forced to stumble sideways. The hit dazed him, but he wasn't a complete idiot. In a single motion, Danny ducked first, then juked to the right, knowing a followup punch was coming. As the second fist sailed just beside his ear, he reached up and grabbed the wrist of the passing arm. Lucky Charms might be quick, but he was small, and Danny could use his own weight to his advantage. The arm was already moving passed his head, so he followed through with the momentum, pulled the arm—and the guy—behind him, so that the force caused the man to stumble.

On quick feet, Danny pivoted around him and planted a solid foot into his back. Lucky Charms let out a whoosh of air, his knees buckling as he lurched forward. But Danny didn't stop there. Like a linebacker, he rushed in, barreling his arm around the smaller man, and dragging them both into the dirt. Danny threw a leg over his attacker's back and straddled him, thighs tight against the bucking and squirming beneath. Blow after blow, Danny lit into him, fear-fueled fists desperate for any connection. The man's ears, his head, his arms; Danny even managed a low blow or two on the man's ribs as he twisted just right beneath him.

The fight was good. Danny was gonna be okay. He could feel Lucky starting to slow beneath his hold. But the adrenaline that drove Danny to fight recklessly, was slowly ebbing from his veins. His lungs burned, his hands felt numb. His thighs cramped as they strained to keep his enemy pinned. Even still, in Danny's eyes, this was victory.

Only, in all the commotion and his fight-to-live narrowed vision, Danny had forgotten about the other two men. They seemed to have recovered quickly and were hanging back to let the fight play out. When it was clear their main man was getting the short end of it, they figured it best to jump back in. Thing was, Danny was nearly all fought out.

He felt massive hands grabbing at his shoulders, pulling him upward and off of the smaller man. Danny growled, teeth bared and eyes fuming. He twisted and pulled, anything to shake them. But the two men fought against him, and his energy was already spent. What chance did Danny have. He landed one more good hit to Lucky's left cheek before his body was ripped free, legs pumping and feet flying as he kicked and stomped the prone body. As long as he was in range, Danny would cause as much damage as possible.

"Give it up, haole." The man that held his arms back, whispered threats into his ear. "You just lost your fight with the wrong man."

 _We'll see about that,_ Danny thought. He bared his teeth and growled again, still fighting to pull away, as the third man landed a punch to his ribs.


	8. Chapter 8

***** H50 Chapter 8 *****

The dense jungle was eerily quiet as Steve and Grace trudged along. They'd been quick enough to maneuver strategically, loosing their pursuers in the chase by some perfectly timed crouches and a little backtracking to throw their assailants off course. Steve, after all, knew a thing or two about stealth. He glanced down at his throbbing leg and bit back a curse. He also knew a thing or two about blood trails, and at the moment, he was leaving a fairly obvious one. He tried to hide the pain as best he could, but even Grace was starting to worry.

"Maybe we should take a break, Uncle Steve. I-I'm tired of walking."

Steve smiled; always so thoughtful. "I know, Grace. But if we stop, they'll catch up to us. We gotta just keep going, okay?"

"But we don't even know where to go. My dad could be anywhere in here; how're we gonna find him? How do we even know he's—"

"Stop. Grace. Listen to me. Okay?" He reached out and put a firm hand on her shoulder. "We can't go talking that way, how's it gonna help us? Huh? We have to stay positive, d'you understand? Grace?" He raised an eyebrow which coaxed out her stiff nod. "Good. Then let's just keep moving."

There was no way to be certain how long they'd been walking, or how deep into the jungle they'd gone. After a time, Steve's head began to fill with the same dangerous doubts he'd told Grace not to entertain. Pair that with the lack of sleep he'd been getting, and the way his ebbing adrenaline had sapped his wildman energy, and Steve was about spent. His limp had become blatantly prominent, and the loss of blood was beginning to effect his judgment; lightheadedness made it hard to focus.

"Okay, kiddo. Maybe just a quick break." He wheezed some as he shrugged out of his long sleeve button down shirt.

She paused and turned a worried glance his way. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." But he knew it wasn't very convincing. He should have smiled; offered a joke. At the very least, he could have looked at her. But the truth was, Steve wasn't fine. And he knew it.

He took the shirt by the sleeves, flipped it over a couple times so that it twisted into a sort of rope, and bent to wrap the length around his left thigh. The last thing Steve wanted to do was worry Grace more than he knew she already was, but even he struggled to hide the pain as he pulled the shirt tight across his open bullet wound. The veins popped in his neck and he groaned. Loosing balance, he pitched forward and nearly dropped to his knees.

Grace, though, had been watching him careful, all too aware of his tendency to make light of dire situations. In an instant, she'd closed the space between them, thrusting out her palms for his chest to fall against. Her fingers buried themselves in the loose cotton of his sweat-soaked undershirt and she grunted, leaning into his weight to counter the fall.

"Thanks." He managed. His own hands gripped her shoulders in as light a hold as he could, given the pain that wracked him. "Can you—can you pull it tight." His eyes had been shut, but he opened them now, pleading for her strength.

"I—I don't wanna hurt you, Uncle Steve."

He shook his head. "Can't make it much worse." He watched her swallow nervously. "'s okay, Grace. I'll get it. 'm sorry." He should never have asked her. It was his job to take care of her, it should never have to be the other way around. He forced half a smile on his strained face and pushed away from her. His wounded leg threatened to buckled from under him, but an awkward hop backward and he was balancing well enough, once more.

In anticipation of the pain, Steve grit his teeth hard, his cheeks flexing tightly. Avoiding the inevitable wouldn't make it hurt any less. He sucked in a deep breath, held for half a second, then pulled the shirt sleeves hard. As the fabric tightened around him, Grace appeared at his side. She knelt, put a surprisingly steady hand over one of his, and glanced up. When his fevered eyes met hers, he saw her fear and worry reflected there. But he saw something else too. In fifteen year old Grace Williams, Steve saw every ounce of fire and grit and determination that was the same driving force behind what propelled her father, his loyal partner, and the whole reason they would go through all of this to save one man in the first place. Steve had never felt more proud.

Grace pulled the shirtsleeves more gently than he had. A steady pressure but still with enough force to keep the bandage from slipping down. When the tension felt right, she doubled the fabric and tied a second knot, securing the cloth in place.

"S'good, Grace. Y'did good." Steve reached down and coaxed her to stand before him. "Thank you."

Grace opened her mouth to answer, but just then, the quiet of the jungle terrain lit up with shouts of angry men. A shot or two echoed through the valley, and Steve cursed. Their pursuers had gained quite the distance while the two of them stopped to rest. A necessary gamble, Steve prayed. He knew he'd have bled out if he hadn't tied something over the wound. He only hoped the time to do so hadn't been a welcome for disaster.

"We gotta go, baby." He urged. Thankfully, instinct from years of precarious service with the SEALs and the blessed adrenaline that came with immanent death, chased the pain and fatigue from his ailing body. He pulled the gun from his holster and ushered her forward. "Run!"

Grace didn't need to be told twice. She sucked in a muffled shriek, and Steve's heart filled with sorrow. He knew this wasn't her life, she was never supposed to have seen a fraction of it. And yet, her strength and leveled head, her determination to save her father—man, but he loved that little girl.

The two ran quickly for almost ten minutes, though it felt like so much longer. The shouts of the pursuing men were fading, thankfully, and Steve risked the chance to slow. They were coming to the top of a ridge, and he knew the decent would be dangerous; especially given his current physical state. He stopped running, pulled Grace back from the edge and looked over. It wasn't impossible to navigate, but it would be tricky.

"Go slow, Kiddo. Kay?"

"I know."

Steve smirked. "You know. Just—just, be careful."

Grace nodded, but a doubtful look held her feet rooted in place at the crest. She swallowed thickly, an obvious battle of sense ranging inside her mind. Steve was just about to offer some sort of encouragement, when Grace nodded again. Not in apparent response to anything Steve had seen or heard. But whatever the reason, it was enough to get her moving. She exhaled a deep, shaky breath, and took her first step down the slope.

They made their way, picking paths carefully, and were about half way down the hill in good time. Maybe this wasn't so dangerous as Steve had first figured. No sooner had the thought materialized, though, that Grace's foot came down wrong on a loose stone, slipping from under her in the moist earth. Instinct had Steve reaching for her hand even while she cried out in shock, flailing her arms desperately in hopes of grabbing anything to help regain her balance. He caught hold of her, but her momentum was already enough to pull them both forward, and they tumbled mercilessly to the bottom of the incline.

A sharp pain erupted in Steve's side and he grit his teeth hard, groaning as he fought for breath. _Grace._ "Grace." His voice not much more than a wheeze. He tried for a little louder. "Grace!" Still nothing. _Breathe, McGarrett,_ He coached. _Just breathe._ His panting sounded too loud in ears that still rung with his sudden expense of reserved adrenaline, but he didn't care. All he cared about was her, and he wasn't even ashamed when he cried out, rolling himself over to look around.

His arms shook beneath him; his left leg pulsed in time with a heart he was certain must be seconds from pumping its way right out of his chest. On all fours, Steve's head hung down. Sweat dripped from his nose. "Grace." His voice was weak, but still louder than hers. If he could just hear something; know she was still—

Steve drew in a measured breath, forcing control of his fear-foggy mind. _Don't think, just look,_ he chided. It would be better to know than not to. "Grace." As he said her name again, Steve lifted his head and opened his eyes. There, in the mud and tangled leaves before him, was his best friend's daughter's too-still body.


	9. Chapter 9

***** H50 Chapter 9 *****

"Oh, God. Gracie, please! No..." At the sight of her, the pain in his body seemed no more than an echo of yesterday, replaced by the dread of uncertainty. He crawled forward even as tears already sprung in his eyes. His worry a measurably larger force than either the wound in his leg or the new pain that ripped through his side, his every breath a difficulty. "Gracie, baby, please be okay. You're okay, Gracie, you're okay." As if telling her unmoving form would make it so. With a trembling finger, he wiped a strand of sweaty hair from across her nose and tipped her chin toward him. Nothing.

 _Where's your soldier strength now, you pathetic waste of life._ His frustration guided the thoughts that, for some reason, felt better focused when on his own berating. He certainly didn't feel worth a whole lot just then. If he ever had to tell Danny he— Steve swore out loud, pounding a fist into the ground. _Just do it, McGarrett_. _Do it, now!_ With fingers that had never trembled so much in all his life, Steve reached for the delicate skin at Gracie's pale neck. He held his breath. Counted the seconds as they passed like years.

 _Thum—thump. Thum—thump. Thum—thump._

"Oh thank God." He moved his hand from her neck to her shoulder and gave a very gentle poke. "Gracie? Gracie, baby, open your eyes."

Grace moaned beneath him and tried to squirm away from his touch. "Why're pokin' me?" she slurred.

Shaking her awake would have been dangerous given that he didn't know the extent of her injuries. If something was wrong with her neck... In any event, poking was much safer. But the thought of worse invited dread back into the pit of his stomach. Instead of explaining any of that to her, he asked, "Are you hurt?"

"I—"

"Can you move okay?"

"I'm fi—"

"Can you breathe?"

"Unc—"

"Look at me."

"Uncle Steve!" She fought to get a word in between his pestering. "I'm not hurt! I'm okay. Really."

"You can move your hands and your feet okay?" Instead of answering, she was already trying to sit up. "Woah, there Jungle Girl. Just, take it slow. How does your neck feel. Can you turn your head?" She demonstrated that she could. Her twisting, though, revealed to him a very ugly, already swelling knot just above her eye, beneath a fairly deep gash still leaking blood. He reached out, wanting to get a better look.

"What're you doing? Stop, I'm fine."

"'Course you are." Wasn't every female, ever. "You hit your head, Grace. Must be what knocked you out."

"I didn't get knocked out—"

"I called your name. You didn't answer."

Suddenly, she turned fuming eyes up to lock with his worried ones. She pulled back out of his reach, and said, voice heating rapidly, "I'm sorry that I forgot to answer you because I was trying to remember how to breathe, okay? And forgive me, if I wasn't exactly sure I was still alive to do it! So just...back off."

Steve didn't know what to say. He'd heard over many afternoon drinks with Danny, that Grace had risen into quite an accomplished member of the teenage rebellion, though he'd never seen it for himself. When Danny vented, Steve hadn't really offered him a whole lot of sympathy. Daughters were supposed to treat their fathers that way, weren't they? But Grace's words stung. She'd never spoken to Steve with that tone before. Ever.

He wasn't stupid. He knew tensions were high, and that this was probably the most stressful situation she'd ever had to endure. But shouldn't that make her draw closer to the people who were helping? Steve couldn't tell if it was just the fear and exhaustion, or if she truly was hating him for causing this whole mess in the first place. Either way, he didn't like it. One look at the pain swirling in those still-too-innocent eyes, and he'd never felt more sorry. None of this ever should have happened. The worst part was, he knew in hindsight, he was going to pick out a hundred different ways in which he could have handled everything better for Grace's sake.

Steve balled a fist against the wound in his leg which throbbed fiercely from the pressure of sitting so long on his knees. He opened his mouth to try explaining any part of all that to her, how angry at himself he was to feel like he'd failed her. He _loved_ her. But she spoke up first. "I don't wanna—" When she swallowed, eyes closing for a moment, he thought to try and say something. But too quickly, she was speaking again. "Can we please just go find Danno?"

He couldn't handle what he took for betrayal reflected in her moistening eyes, dripping from her tone of voice. His own eyes threatened tears. He cleared his throat gruffly, trying not to wince or cry out, but still thankful for the new pain in his side to distract him as he rose on unsteady legs. He brushed his hands against his hips and looked away. "Sure, kiddo." He managed through labored breath. She could hate him all she wanted, as long as she wanted, but it wouldn't change his heart for her.

Steve cleared his throat again, suddenly feeling a bit awkward in her presence. He reached out a hand to help her up, not sure what she would do. She stared blankly at it for a moment, as if contemplating whether it were a snake or a rope. Finally, she cleared her own throat, obviously feeling awkward too, and accepted the help.

As she pushed off with her left hand, though, to stand while he pulled up on her right, it gave way beneath her and she cried out, falling back toward the ground. Steve didn't want to hurt her more, but he also knew they couldn't sit there at the bottom of the hill forever. He pulled her all the way up to her feet before steadying her, firmly wrapping each of his hands around her biceps. She trembled in his grip, cradling her left wrist protectively.

"What's the matter? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." But her eyes said different.

"Lemme see..." He reached out, slow like she were a wounded animal. She flinched back. "Grace. Let me help you." Her expression suggested that he'd maybe helped enough already, but eventually, she resigned.

Steve held her swelling wrist in a light grip, careful not to poke or bend it too much. He was pretty certain it wasn't broken, but the degree of sprain or strain, he wasn't sure. In any case, it looked plenty painful enough, and he was sorry he couldn't do much to help.

He looked around for some thin sticks laying along the jungle floor. Then, he turned back to her and sighed. "D'you like this sweatshirt?"

"What?"

"This shirt?" He tugged on the long sleeves that were pushed up away from her swollen wrist.

She shrugged. "Danno got it for me." He could hear in her voice she liked it more than her posture suggested.

He sighed. "You be sure an tell Danno it's my fault it got ruined. Okay? I'm sorry." Before she could protest, he unclipped the knife from his pocket and balanced precariously on his good leg to cut through her sleeves. Bracing the two sticks on either side of her wrist, he wrapped the fabric around and tightened it into place. The wince on her face stabbed blades through his heart.

He contemplated removing the shirt that wrapped his own wound and using it to tie a sling for her, but his SEAL training quickly staunched the flow of his bleeding heart. A stiffness had started to settle in his thigh, a ceasing that make every stretch or flex of his muscle tighten in agony. He didn't hold any medic certifications, but he'd suffered enough GSWs to be fairly certain the bullet was still buried deep inside his leg.

What Steve needed was a distraction from their imminent doom. As he watched the color drain from her soft cheeks, stress and shock taking root of her resolve, he knew Grace could use one too.

"Okay, look." He tried. Sweat had beaded on his forehead, and he wiped it away with an aggression fueled by his frustration. "Your wrist isn't broken. Just a small sprain, it's gonna be fine, okay?" She nodded. He swallowed thickly, then nodded too.

Steve cast tired eyes up and around the jungle that surrounded them, and wracked his fuzzy brain for an intelligent solution. "We need to keep walking."

"You're bleeding,"

"I know." He sighed. "But the sooner we find Danno and get outta here, the sooner we can get some help. You and me both." Strange how quickly so few words could sap him of the strength to breathe. He turned to limp away.

Grace reached out, her fingertips brushing his bare arm. He paused. "No, you're bleeding. From your side."

Steve looked down. Sure enough, the shirt below his armpit was plastered to his tender ribs in a sticky mass, the gray fabric stained a deep red. He swore. "Don't look, okay?" Whether or not she'd follow orders, he turned away from her, so she couldn't see, and pulled the shirt gingerly up out of the wound. His breathing came in stitched gasps that he tried to keep muffled so she wouldn't be any further alarmed than she already was. But, truth be told, this new injury worried him more than the bullet still lodged in his thigh.

He'd figured when he'd first felt the pain in his side, that he'd simply cracked a rib or two in the fall. Nothing he'd hadn't worked through before. But the sight of seeping blood was a problem he could have done without. The shaft of a thick, dry tree limb, it appeared, must have impaled him in his fall down the slope. It broke off at skin level as he rolled, which, he thought, was probably a good thing. The stick could act as a plug to help keep his precious blood from draining out too quickly.

Leaving the stick in place though, was asking for infection to set in. Better that, he supposed, as he pulled the shirt back down, pressing a weak hand against the wound. It took mere minutes for a man to die of blood loss. Infection wouldn't take him for another two days at least. And who's to say they wouldn't already be dead or dying of any number of other things by then?

He forced himself to take a deep, if slow and trembling breath, and rolled his shoulders back. As he blinked the worst of the pain from his eyes, he offered Grace a grim smile. "C'mon, kiddo. Let's go get Danno." Grace didn't say anything. Her eyes cast one more anxious glance toward the red stain in his side, the shirt tied tightly around his leg, then she brushed past him and walked deeper into the jungle.

Steve had exactly zero evidence that Danny was even out here, anywhere. He never should have brought Grace, to begin with. That was a given. He never should have left the truck; never should have run so carelessly into the jungle, being hunted like a wild animal. Letting _Grace_ be hunted... This was turning out to be a series of the most devastatingly ignorant decisions he'd ever made.

 _Get a grip, McGarrett._ He chided. What choice had he had? They'd come, chasing his truck down, guns blazing, so fast he'd had no where to go, but into the jungle. The only thing that wasn't sitting right with Steve, was that he still had yet to see any confirmation that Danny was mixed up in any of this. For all he knew, his partner could have already finished the exercise, and been on his way home. A coincidence that a group of rebel soldiers had chosen the exact same location to do—whatever it was they were doing here—at the same time that a few untrained HPD officers would be in the area relatively alone.

...Steve didn't really believe in coincidences.


	10. Chapter 10

***** H50 Chapter 10 *****

Grace wiped a trail of still dripping blood from the gash on her forehead before cradling her left wrist close against her chest. Every time she thought that it was causing her pain, she made herself watch her father's partner trying to maneuver the jungle thick with only one working leg and blood still draining from his injured side, and suddenly, she didn't hurt so bad. She felt like they'd been walking for hours, though she knew that wasn't possible. In however long it had been, though, the Navy SEAL had grown more and more apparent in his discomfort.

She could tell he was trying to be tough, so she wouldn't be scared. But, that was obviously becoming increasingly more difficult, every step they took. As she watched him, a loose twig snagged his left foot and he stumbled forward, crying out as the sudden jerk must have torn at his wounded leg. Grace was at his side in an instant. She put a tentative hand against his shoulder. He brushed her off, grunting as he moved to take another step. His leg buckled and he pitched forward again.

Grace grabbed his flailing arm and pulled backward, helping to steady him. She chocked at the heat radiating from his bare skin. "A-are you alright?" She asked softly.

"Fine." It was a stiff bark more than an intelligent word. Grace sighed. Even she could tell he wasn't fine. Just the amount of sweat dripping from his face told her that. The jungle was humid and stuffy, sure. But he was practically native to it, should be used to the heat. She wasn't, and she wasn't nearly as warm.

"Let me help you, Uncle Steve." She pulled his arm over her shoulder before he could protest. When he leaned his weight into her small frame, she couldn't stop the tears that sprang up from her eyes. Uncle Steve was the strongest, most indestructible man she'd ever known—besides her father, of course—this should be a piece of cake for him. Didn't soldiers get shot all the time? She knew Steve certainly had had his fair share. What made these injuries so different?

Another step and his fist dug into her shoulder painfully. He staggered forward, unsteady. She could hear the panting as his lungs tried to work overtime. Grace knew next to nothing about first-aide or medical treatments, but instinct told her he wasn't going to make it much further.

"Maybe we should take a break?" she asked softly.

He shook his head, but the motion seemed to invite vertigo into his pain-blurred vision. She struggled to keep him upright.

"Why not?" She cried, a little louder than she'd meant to. "You can barely stand!" Her tone broke as she voiced the fear that hadn't let up all afternoon.

He must have sensed she was close to distraught. He stopped; pushed off of her slowly, and forced himself to stand alone. She watched him try to swallow repeatedly, closing his eyes as he worked though his labored breathing, a hand pressed firmly against the sticky shirt at his side. After a few moments, he looked up at her. Miraculously, a clarity had come over his features. He offered a weak smile.

"I'm just tired, is all. I'll be okay." He glanced at her swollen wrist, then back up to her eyes and she swallowed. She would guess _tired_ was maybe not the most accurate description, but she didn't feel like arguing. Just then, gunshots rang out, not nearly far enough behind them, and she started. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "We're gonna get outta here." He spoke softly, short sentences robbing him of breath. "Find Danno. Go home. Yeah?"

"Yeah." But Grace couldn't make herself believe him. They didn't even know for sure if Danno was actually out here. If he was, how would they ever find him? The men were getting louder behind them. Steve tugged gently on her sleeveless sweatshirt, pulling her back into motion. She fell into step behind. They'd only gone five or six feet, though, before she'd had his arm back around her shoulders offering what little support she could.

Something rusty orange caught her eye just ahead and to their right. She squinted, trying to get a better look. It could have been an old oil barrel or some piece of machinery. It was big. And made of some sort of metal. She tugged on his sweat-soaked shirt. "Uncle Steve, look! What is it?"

When he shrugged and kept walking, she forced herself to laugh. "You didn't even look, you dork." She pulled him sideways again. "I think it's a car." That and the unexpected laughter had him pausing, curious. A question painted the pained lines of his flushed face. "Do you see it?" She asked. He breathed heavily, head drooped beside her ear, but she thought he may have whispered _yes_. She tugged again and helped him to walk over.

Grace worked for a few minutes, one handed, while her father's partner leaned against a rusty orange fender and caught his breath. As she pulled away branches and dried leaves and fern stems, she revealed that, in fact, it _was_ a car. Or, truck, actually. Old and rusty, but she knew enough of investigative work to have hope. Thinking her voice might help distract Steve, she spoke aloud.

"The windshield's not cracked or broken. So it hasn't been buried under these sticks for very long. The tires aren't sunk very deep in the soft mud, either. We're talking days maybe. Not weeks or months."

"Very good, Detective." Steve's praise carried even though his voice was soft.

Encouraged, she kept going. "Doors are unlocked, there might be keys inside." He gave a muffled warning to be careful, as she crawled into the dusty cab. Floorboards were bare, glove box empty, ignition off. She nearly swore. Her mother had enough English etiquette to have raised her with the belief that ugly words were undignified and barbaric. But enough weekends with her father and favorite uncle had given her a relative education in appropriate uses for colorful language.

Grace wondered if Uncle Steve knew how to hotwire a vehicle. She guessed that probably he did. But as she lowered the torn sun visor from its fold against the headliner, a single silver key dropped into her lap, and she didn't have to ask. She stuck the key into the ignition, but before she could twist it on, a rap sounded against the window. Grace jumped in surprise.

Uncle Steve was standing in the open door. She hadn't even heard him move around the truck. He cast calculating eyes inside the cab before meeting her questioning gaze. "It's old." He said. "But automatic. Think you can drive it?"

 _She?_ Grace though he would drive, and get them both as far away from this cursed jungle as he possibly could, back to the city where she knew her father was already safely home and waiting for them. Who was she kidding? Life never played out that easily. She sighed, wrapping nervous hands around the wheel.

Steve spoke again. "This is a flatbed truck." As if that should mean something to her. "There's a—" A sudden cough rose from his chest and he squeezed his eyes shut, head falling forward against the edge of the truck door.

Grace opened her mouth, reached up to help. But what could she do? When she sucked in a breath to ask as much, he shook his head slowly. His knuckles were white in their grip against the door frame, and sweat had his shirt sticking to his thin chiseled frame. His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, eyes blinked to clear his vision.

He spoke over her unasked question. "There's a Gat. Mounted on the bed. Looks sound. You drive."

She couldn't make heads or tales of his rambling. "I think you have a fever, Uncle Steve." How long had they been running? It felt like only 10 minutes ago they were arguing about gun safety as they drove his pick-up along the freeway, but as long ago as yesterday when she'd walking in on his tired form, leaning elbows against the desk in his office. She sighed. "Let me help you around to the other side. You can rest and I'll drive us out." She'd try to, anyway.

Steve shook his head, attempting to suppress another cough. "'m fine. You jus' drive. Kay?" He was waiting for a response.

When he raised a single brow at her, she nodded. "Okay. I'll drive. But you gotta get in."

As she was speaking, he shut the cab door and hobbled away. She thought maybe he was making his way around the back of the truck to get in the other side. She reached for the handle to let herself out, so she could help him.

Gunfire behind them, close enough now she could hear voices along with it. The rusty frame of the old truck shook as a loud commotion sounded in the back. She paled, eyes squeezed shut, waiting for a rain of bullets to light them up. Nothing came, but she still couldn't breathe. She could hear—feel, really—someone moving around in the bed, but she wasn't brave enough to look.

Then, a knock against the back window. Grace cringed; curled her right hand into a tight fist. The pane that divided the window in half began to slide along its track. she heard movement of air over her right shoulder and knew someone was reaching into the cab. In a single motion, she both screamed and raised up her arm, fist wrapped into sore left hand, right elbow aimed behind her. Without a thought, she forced her arm back, until bone connected sharply with whatever soft flesh was coming inside the cab.

Grace welcomed the satisfaction as a grunt of pain yelled from the impact. She twisted quickly, both fists raised to punch again. She may be terrified, sure, but she was a cop's daughter. No way she was going down without a fight. A string of curses met her ears as a face re-appeared in the open back window.

Uncle Steve's face.

"Grace! Stop! It's me!" He cried. "It's me..." His large hand covered an already blackening eye, puffy and swelling shut.

"Uncle Steve!" What had she done! Wasn't he hurt enough. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! A—are you okay?" Her hands raised to cover her mouth in shock. Tears of exhaustion and frustration and remorse spilled from her eyes. Her body began to shake. She couldn't do this any more.

"Grace." His voice was strong. Stronger than it had been all afternoon. Or, maybe she was just feeling that much more weak. "Hey. Grace." He reached through the window with both hands and cupped her face in them. His thumb wiped at the trail of sticky blood still painting a line across her forehead. Heat radiated from his touch, but it helped to ground her in reality. "It's okay, Grace. It's okay. I'm fine." His eyes widened in question that she was listening. She found herself matching his nod, though she knew he wasn't fine. "Look, those men are coming. We need to go. Can you drive this truck?" Every word was solid; firm as it settled over her anxiety. "Grace."

"I—I think so." She stammered. Thankfully, her lungs were remembering how to breathe. A single bullet, biting into the glass on the far side of the back window reminded them quick enough. She shrieked. Steve still held her head, ignoring the onslaught of enemy fire.

"Hey." He said, his voice strong. "You're doing great. Turn the key. Drive the truck. It doesn't matter where you go, just keep driving." Another questioning nod.

"Drive the truck." She confirmed. "Okay."

He released her head, whispered, "Good girl." And turned away from the window.

As she cranked on the ignition, the truck roared to life, accompanied by the vicious sound of a large, automatic weapon reigning terror on some hopeless souls. It was minutes into driving along the bumpy road, no particular direction in mind, that Grace realized Uncle Steve was in charge of the loud weapon, a large turret-like gun, somehow anchored to the bed of the truck. She prayed that thing never ran out of bullets.

A mantra of _Keep Driving, Don't Crash_ played on repeat inside her head, knuckles white, eyes wide, as she pressed her foot down, pinning the accelerator to the floor.


	11. Chapter 11

***** H50 Chapter 11 *****

The sound of a Gatling gun erupted in the near distance and Danny cursed. The gun obviously wasn't firing at him, or he'd be a mass of Jersey pulp. But he was fairly certain he was the only breathing member of his team in this impromptu war against some very deceptive locals. So either, his enemies were turning on themselves. Or the Calvary had arrived.

He wanted to be hopeful, but his luck never played out that way. More likely, it was a rebel soldier, simply fired up at being in the action and blazing rounds at nothing. Or he saw a bear...did Hawaii have bears? Either way, Danny wasn't about to rest on any hope of rescue, given that it wasn't possible any of his team or other HPD officers knew anything bad had even happened.

No, it was a death sentence to let a mind in peril run wild with fantasy. He had enough problems to focus on right here in front of him. All of which were very real, and began with the extremely tight twisted rope that held his hands pinned behind him while he was forced to trudge deeper and deeper into the jungle. The rope was thick, and bit sharply into his skin. And no amount of tugging or pulling was allowing any sort of relief.

The man in charge—whom Danny had less than affectionately referred to as Lucky Charms—planted a fist in the small of Danny's back and shoved. Danny, in turn, stumbled forward, and the man yelled, as if Danny's misstep was a result of his own clumsiness.

"Ay, woah! Take it easy, alright?" The detective's hands lifted and jerked behind his back, but the gestures of indignation were lost on his captor.

"Eh, he maybe has a point, Jang. If he breaks an ankle, I ain't gonna carry him." The largest of the two bodyguards subconsciously reached out a hand to steady his flailing captive. Danny shrugged the help away.

"If he breaks an ankle," Lucky Charms—Jang, apparently—said slowly, "We'll leave him for the dogs. And if you undermine my authority again, Tadashi, I'll break yours." The guard swallowed the threat thickly, having zero doubt his leader would follow through.

Behind them, the sound of the Gatling gun grew louder. "I thought Marcus parked that old truck in the brush." The second guard said. Tadashi nodded consent. Danny wasn't certain, but he might have caught a slight frown playing at the edges of Jang's thin lips. He knew better than to entertain thoughts of rescue based on such circumstantial evidence, but he smiled anyway. His captors sure didn't have to know.

"Marcus _did_ park the truck, boys. That, that you're hearing there, is the Calvary comin' in! Whatchu think about that?"

"I think," Tadashi gripped his arm like a vice. Apparently his days of concern for Danny's well-being were over. "there ain't no way your boys know anything about our little setup here."

"He is right, of course, Detective." Jang's voice was haughty, like so much as his nod made mountains move.

Danny shrugged. "Maybe not, but I would guess that Marcus knows a bit better than to fire off empty rounds at nothing, wouldn't you agree? So either, _A_ , he saw something he don't like. Or, _B_ , he ain't the one driving the truck."

A blow with the force of a ram collided into the back of Danny's head and he crumpled forward, his knees digging into the soft jungle earth. Vision swam hazily around him and he had to blink several times before he was convinced he still clung to consciousness. Jang's heavily booted foot met his heaving side as he struggled to catch his breath. The impact sent him toppling over onto his hip, where the second guard ground his boot against Danny's bare cheek. Mossy mud shoved its way into his mouth through teeth grit tight against the pain, as Jang followed through with a few more kicks.

Danny tried to curl in against them, his abs tight to absorb what damage they could. But it didn't help much. Nothing did. He squirmed and bucked beneath the hold on his face, twisting and flopping to make a beached fish proud. _Please!_ He clung to whatever last merciful chance there was. _Please, be you, Steve!_ The longest of long-shots Danny had ever hoped for.

Just as quickly as they'd started, his assailants stopped their abuse. The men now had their guns up, trained on a battered old truck that was just breaking into the small clearing from the east. They seemed agitated, uncertain, and Danny let his hope level rise a single notch. When the first rounds of the Gat fired off in their direction, the men around him began a frantic chorus of shouts. Danny was thankful he was already lying face down on the ground. Now, more than ever, he hoped the truck brought friends.

Before they could use his body as a shield, Danny rolled backward, away from the chaos, hoping the truck would keep their attention long enough for him to gain some distance before they realized he was gone. The rapid gunfire never let up, and for once in his life, the anti-gun activist was thankful such powerful weapons existed in the world.

The truck cut across the clearing, parallel to them. A bold declaration, to make its power known. At the west end, just before the cover of trees, the truck turned and doubled back their way, this time, on a course between Danny and the men who guarded him. Jang was quick to realize he'd nearly lost his leverage, and made to cross the truck's path. Danny wasn't going to let the man re-secure him as a hostage, though. No way. He twisted and rolled awkwardly into a sitting position, and then up onto his feet.

The cannon operator in the back of the truck though, was a fast thinker too. He laid out a wave of bullets, just between the two of them, so that Jang would have to swim through the crossfire in order to reach his captive. Danny thought that made him relatively safe and he let a shaky breath escape his tightly clenched teeth. When Jang offered the hint of a smirk, however, and raised his rifle barrel up in Danny's direction, all sense of security went up in smoke.

Danny chanced a quick glance over his shoulder and decided to take a risk. He turned his back on the gun and ran, fast as his jersey legs would power him, in the direction of the oncoming truck; 65, no, 70 percent certain it was here to help him. The truck's engine revved as the driver accelerated to meet Danny halfway. Scared for his life, and not sure why he was even still breathing, Danny paid no expert attention to who his rescuers were. He merely dove forward, tucking into a hard half-roll because of the way his hands were tied behind him, and lay panting in the wet earth. He could have kissed the rust on the side of the truck for the blessed cover it gave him.

"Hey, Leech!" A voice called down to him. Danny blinked, breathing hard, and glanced up into the truck bed. "You gonna lay their all day, take advantage of my services? Or you gonna get up here and help?"

 _Steve._ He loved the guy, sure. But never had he loved him so much as right now, in this moment. His face split into a wide, toothy grin, and he shrugged. "Little tied up, here, at the moment, Buddy. But you're doing great. You keep at it, I'll just wait right here."

He meant it mostly as a joke, but his partner frowned. Danny cut him a little slack, preoccupied as he was. He had his right hand on the trigger of the massive mounted machine gun in the bed of the truck, still firing rounds in Jang's direction. And he had his left hand, pistol drawn across his body, taking shots at the other two guards from under his arm. _Dang_ , but the man had moves. What did he expect Danny to do, though? He had no weapon, and his hands were tied so tightly behind his back that he couldn't so much as shrug his shoulders. He turned sideways, just enough to be sure Steve could see the extent of his bondage.

The Navy SEAL swore loudly and rolled his eyes. "Kinda stupid time to get yourself tied up, there Danny. Don't'cha think? I mean, I could really use your help." While he talked, he let go the turret trigger for just a second, and slipped his hand into the side pocket of his cargo khakis. In only another second, he drew out a knife, flipped it open, and tossed it, with near-perfect aim, into the dirt at Danny's feet. Then he was right back on the trigger, keeping the lucky local at bay.

Danny was half expecting him to jump down and cut the rope himself, but he supposed keeping up their cover fire was a pretty smart choice, too. He bent awkwardly, gripped the knife in tingly fingers, and squinted and cringed until he'd cut himself loose. Then he was up in the back of the truck, taking the pistol from his partner's hand, as he fired his own shots in his captors' way. A bullet took the smaller guard in the head and he dropped dead in an instant. Danny didn't know if it was his pistol or the cannon that took him out, but who cared? Dead was dead. He only hopped Jang and Tadashi wouldn't be too far behind.

"Drive!" Steve yelled through the open window at the back of the truck. Danny tried to follow his gaze, curious who else came to his rescue, but he couldn't see much, and the enemy bullets raining back at them reminded him maybe he'd better keep his attention focused forward, instead.


	12. Chapter 12

*** H50 Chapter 12 ***

"Bout time you showed up, partner." Danny laid on the sarcasm, like a steak that dripped with marinade. "I was basically already dead."

"You're quite welcome, _partner_." Steve could paint with sarcasm just as well, and Danny tried not to smile. "Considering no one knew you were even in trouble, you're lucky we came at all!"

"How did you find out, anyway?" Danny cast a questioning look to the man beside him, and paused. Steve's face looked pale; dripped with more sweat than normal in this humid jungle. So he'd been concerned? Danny _knew_ there was a heart, somewhere deep, deep behind that ice-locked front of his. He smirked.

"Gracie and I came to surprise you."

"Wha—I'm sorry. _Gracie_?! You brought Gracie out here?" In an instant, his mood had flipped completely on end. "What the hell's the matter with you, Steve? That's my _daughter_!"

"I know that she's your daughter, Danny. What I _didn't_ know, was that you were in any kind of trouble here." Danny opened his mouth to speak, fire blazing in his eyes. But Steve spoke over him. Now that the truck was moving, they'd left their assailants further behind and could focus less on the firefight and more on each other. "No, listen to me. Okay? 'Routine' scheduled and approved HPD training operation. That's what this was supposed to be. Why should I have assumed the worst?"

"Because, it's _you_ Steve. With you, everything is the worst..." Steve looked like he was about to argue, then he shut his mouth and swallowed thickly. Good. Maybe he wasn't completely brain dead after all.

Danny turned back toward the passing trees as the jungle swallowed them up, once more. The truck hit an unmercifully large pothole and he was tossed off balance. It reminded him, though, that he still didn't know who was driving; a thought which invited a very sickening feeling into the pit of his stomach. He looked sideways at Steve, who had doubled over from the jostling, a pained cringe stitched into his face. Just then, Danny was glad for his partner's discomfort. He hoped a bump would jar the man right out of the truck! More than terrified for the answer, Danny asked, "Is she—" swallowed his fear, and tried again. "She's not driving this truck, is she?"

"No, Danny," Steve pressed a fist into his side, his eyes shut tight as he growled a response. "I left her under a bush back by that big rock... How irresponsible do you think I am?" The sarcasm so thick, it was nearly visible.

Was he really asking that, right now? "Oh, gee, I don't know. Let's think about it, shall we? You take my daughter, who is a minor, mind you, across an island without parental consent—we could go ahead and call this kidnapping, at this point—and make her into your getaway driver in a real life field operation?"

As he voiced the facts aloud, the weight of potential peril slammed into him. He felt weak, helpless with worry for Grace's safety. "That's my little girl, Steven. She's fifteen years old. Legally, she's not even supposed to be operating a vehicle. You don't let a fifteen year old little girl drive a truck through a gun fight. What were you thinking..." Tears threatened his eyes as he forced himself past the man sitting beside him—the man he hated more now than even the first time they met—to look through the window at his daughter.

"Gracie, baby? Are you okay?"

"Danno?" The voice carried loudly over the roar of the old truck's engine, but Danny still heard a tremble.

"Yeah, Baby, it's me. Stop the truck, okay? You don't have to drive anymore."

"But they'll get us, Danno. It's okay. I can drive, now. I wanted to surprise you..." Her voice trailed away.

Danny wasn't quite sure what she meant by it all. She wasn't making a whole lot of sense. But at least she was talking. She seemed in one piece, but for the splint that held her left wrist straight with the sleeves of the sweatshirt she'd been wearing. Danny scowled. He'd gotten her that sweatshirt. It was her favorite—or, it was his, anyway—and now look at it. He turned fuming eyes back toward his partner as the old truck bounced slowly along a rough jungle road.

"How could you bring her here? She's a little girl, Steve. The first sign of trouble, should have sent her right back the way you came. What were you thinking?" He'd never been so angry in all of his life. And at the one man that claimed to love his girl as much as he himself did. They were supposed to be brothers. Well, not after this.

Danny knew that, in the heat of the moment, his fear and his fury were encouraging rash emotion. But even still, he was quite certain this was not a forgivable offense. She could have been killed today. More easily than his father-heart was able to admit. Bile rose in his throat as he waited for the man beside him to say something. Not that anything would fix this. But the least he could do was try...

Steve, though, merely stared at the wooden boards under their feet. His fists clenched the sides of the large mounted canon, but more, it seemed, to hold himself upright, than to aim the gun at anything. Danny thought he looked defeated. And so he should, risking the life of a little girl— _his_ little girl—and for what? A chance to play the hero? Never mind the fact that Danny would be dead right now, if they'd hadn't come.

Steve's tone was so soft, Danny almost didn't hear him. "We had no choice. They came up on us so fast... I didn't know what to do..." Even in his angered state, the Jersey Detective couldn't miss the tightness that strained his partner's voice.

A sudden bump jarred the men awkwardly, and Steve turned away from him, a weak grunt tearing through the last shredded fibers of his resolve as he fought for purchase against the back wall of the cab. His hands fell away from the gun and he slid heavily into a sitting position, tossing back his head.

Danny stilled. For the first time, he took in the paleness of his friend's face; the blood-stained shirt tied too tightly around his left thigh; the way his right hand pressed in support against his side, fingers stained a dangerous shade of red. Another bump, and Steve lurched forward, fighting against a cough that wracked his obviously broken body. Danny may never be able to forgive the man for putting his daughter in harm's way, but the two of them had been through too much, for him to dismiss his partner's unmistakable need, now.

He took one final look through the rear window, to make certain Gracie was doing okay. With the road in front of her to focus on, she didn't seem to notice his concern. And regrettably, he had a more pressing matter to attend. Dropping down to his knees, he leaned sideways and put a hand on his partner's heaving chest. The heat that radiated from Steve's trembling body was alarming, to say the least.

"Ah, Jeez... Are you okay?" A stupid thing to say, given the evidence at hand. "Look at you..." He held his friend's body against the rear of the cab with one hand, and pushed his forehead backward with the other. The sweat that pooled there felt cold and clammy. Steve's eyes fluttered open for a weak moment, before falling shut again.

"Hey! Buddy, stay with me. We're not exactly wandering through friendly territory, right now." That last was spoken softly, more to himself than anyone.

Steve shrugged beneath his grip and tried to shake the hand away. "I'm alright, Danny. Jus' tired."

"Shut up, will ya? You're not alright, now quit lying and just sit there. And stop squirming. You're not helping anyone."

Another bump, rougher than the last, tumbled Danny into Steve's lap and Steve balked at the pressure against his side. A sharp intake of breath had him coughing painfully as his strained lungs fought for release. His face was turning red in the effort, and Danny swore out loud.

He pushed backward off the cab wall, regaining his balance, and glanced behind them, making certain they'd left their pursuers far behind. That the enemy didn't have a vehicle—at least, not one any of them knew about—was something to commend.

He leaned inside the cab from the still-open rear window and forced a smile into his voice. "It's okay to stop now, Monkey. We're safe."

"I wont feel safe until I'm far away from this place." She mumbled. Though the vehicle came to a stop, her white-knuckled grip didn't ease up on the wheel at all. She stared straight ahead without comment.

In that moment, the broken pieces of Danny's heart split even smaller still. He didn't know what to say. No words could erase from her youthful mind the terrors that the past few hours must have been. He knew, and so he didn't even try.

Beside him, Steve's coughing had finally lessened enough that the man could breathe some, if still not more than shallow gasps, and Danny sighed, leaning his head down into the palms of his shaking hands. In a muffled voice, he asked, "What the hell happened to you, anyway?" And cocked his eye to peek down at his partner.

Steve's fists clenched at his sides and he tossed a wild gaze up in Danny's direction. "What do you mean what happened to me?" The bewilderment offered a strength to his voice that the detective wasn't expecting. "I was shot, Danny. Can't you see that? What do you _think_ happened to me?!"

Danny threw his hands up in frustration. He pushed off from the window, eyes rolling as he dropped to his knees. "Ya know, as a matter of fact, I _can_ see that? I know you were shot, I—"

Steve interrupted. "Then why'd you ask the question?"

"Why'd I ask the— Because I'm _nice_ , okay? Because it's what people ask when they're concerned about the state of a friend."

"You're _nice_?!"

"Really?" Danny's tone was dry, laced with irritated unbelief. "That's what you're going with? You could have taken any number of things from that comment—" In an offhand tone, he listed, "I consider us friends; I was concerned about you— But, I'm _nice_?!"

"Danny. Danny, okay look." Steve winced as he readjusted his position against the cab. He reached out the arm that didn't cradle his side, and said, "I'm sorry. Okay?"

But his partner wasn't so easily pacified. "You're sorry?" Danny scoffed at the sentiment. "For what? For this?!" and gestured halfheartedly at Steve's bloodstained pant leg, at the red that oozed from between the fingers of his right hand. "How 'bout, be sorry for dragging my little girl out here, in the middle of a war zone? How 'bout, be sorry for leading her through a jungle, with bullets flying past her head, so she can slip down a muddy slope and break her wrist, all because you're too 'Mr. Rambo' to take _two seconds_ to think a plan through or call for help! Tell me, Steve. What exactly are you sorry for?"

Steve blinked into the silence that followed his partner's exasperation. His breathing came a bit easier now, though the pain was nothing less. He narrowed his eyes and met the fire that burned in Danny's gaze. "I'll tell you what I'm _not_ sorry for. How 'bout that? I'm not sorry that taking this bullet meant keeping your daughter safe. I'm not sorry for Grace's strength and courage to keep running through this jungle until she knew that you were okay. I'm not sorry for her youthful eyes that spotted this truck in time to provide you the cover you needed to get away. I'm not sorry, Danny, that we found you out here and saved your life in doing so. You'd be dead, okay, if your little girl hadn't come this far; _she_ did this for you, and all you can say is how angry you are that she's here? You're _alive_ because she's here, Danny. D'you get that?"

Steve's face had paled even more as he ranted. Once again, his panting came in staccatoed gasps that hardly carried any oxygen at all. A hazy glean had come over his eyes, and Danny knew he'd exerted more energy than he had to offer, to put Danny in his place. He'd never admit, of course, that the man had a point. But Danny had a point too. Tears sprung in his eyes, and he didn't care that they spilled over and slid down his cheek. "She's just a kid, Steve. She—"

"She's sitting _right_ here..." From the open window above their heads, Grace's face appeared, jaw set defiantly. She spoke again. "And she _really_ doesn't appreciate being talked about like she isn't! Uncle Steve is right, Danno. We didn't have much choice to do things any differently. And I _wanted_ to come find you. Its a good thing we did, too. You have to admit that."

Danny sighed. As he looked into the determined gaze of his fifteen year old girl, he couldn't stop the wonder, when in the world had she grown up? "Yeah, Monkey." He rubbed his hands against his thighs and tried to smile. Through more of a defeated grimace than anything, he said, "It's a good thing you did." A heavy breath passed audibly from half parted lips as he twisted around so that his own back could lean against the truck cab next to Steve.

What were they supposed to do, now? Above the jungle canopy, the sun had long since begun it's decent into the west, and a chill bit the late afternoon air. Once night fell, it seemed foolish to try navigating the dense terrain in the dark. He wasn't willing to bet much on the usefulness of the old truck's headlights. And anyway, the engine's loud roar would attract any unwanted attention if the light didn't. They were better off pulling into the brush somewhere and waiting till morning.

One night. A resigned sigh settled over him as the old truck rumbled idly. One night in the jungle and they'd be home by lunchtime.


	13. Chapter 13

***** H50 Chapter 13 *****

It wasn't the pain that Steve noticed first, though that wasn't far to follow. What woke him was the stillness in the air; the eerie chill that bit harshly through his sweat-soaked clothing; the gentle drops of rain that patterned his dusty face. He shivered, pulling his arms tighter around himself as he readjusted his back against the cab wall.

He'd dozed off and on throughout the night, but he wouldn't have called any of it sleep. The lack of talking or jostling around seemed to have helped his breathing recover some, which was something, at least. His side didn't hurt so much, so long as he didn't move. He felt dizzy, though he wasn't sure if that was due to blood loss or his inability to fully expand his lungs. Either case wasn't helping the oxygen circulate his tired body.

He swallowed thickly and looked to the right, where his partner slept, head tilted sideways so his cheek almost touched his shoulder. It made Steve's neck hurt to watch. Deciding he was already in enough pain, he reached out slowly, and shook the smaller man awake.

Danny jerked.

"Easy, buddy."

Danny turned uncertain eyes in Steve's direction and blinked away the haze of exhausted sleep. He stared at his partner for a good while without saying a word. Steve sighed. The mixed up, emotionally charged thoughts that must be coursing through his friend's mind as he remembered the events of the previous day. Steve was sorry, for the hundredth time, that things hadn't worked out differently. Finally, Danny asked, voice soft in the early morning quiet, "You okay?"

Steve nodded, but he couldn't stop the chill that raised the hairs along his bare arms. He set his jaw in challenge against the cold and swallowed.

The truck rocked gently as Danny rolled onto his knees and leaned closer. He put a hand to Steve's forehead without much resistance, and frowned. "Is fever an imminent sign of infection?"

"Nah." Steve's eyes slid shut and he shrugged. "Too soon for that, probly. Shock is more likely."

Danny scoffed. "You deal with this stuff all the time, Navy SEAL. You're telling me, you're scared of a little blood?"

A tight smile split Steve's thinly pursed lips. "I'm scared of a little blood _loss.._."

His partner reached out and placed a soft hand against Steve's side. Steve flinched. "Looks pretty angry." Danny said. "Can't we take the stick out? Might help you breathe better..."

"Think the stick's keeping all the insides in."

Danny looked up as the sky spit cold drops in his worried face. He rubbed his palms against his thighs and heaved a heavy sigh. "Let's get you out of this rain, at least. That would help?" The last was asked as a question more than anything.

Steve nodded. "Sure." Though the thought of moving felt the furthest thing from helping, he knew his partner meant well. And he _was_ cold.

He hadn't realized Danny had left his side, until he heard the hinges on the driver's side door to the truck squeak open. Grace, it sounded, woke more easily than her father had, and hadn't appeared to have lost a second of their situation. Steve wondered if that meant, like him, she hadn't actually slept much at all. A tear leaked from his eye, but he called it rain.

A moment later, his partner stood beside him, looking up from the edge of the truck's flat bed. The Detective wore a sickened expression that had Steve wanting to slide away from him. "This is gonna hurt." Danny said. He reached up, slipped his hands beneath Steve's armpits, and shrugged the weak limbs up onto his shoulders. "Ya gotta 'least _try_ to help me, pal." Danny huffed.

Steve sighed. He didn't want to help. He wanted the pain to be so great that he slipped, mercifully, into some sort of unconscious state, and didn't reemerge until he'd been tucked safely into clean hospital sheets that smelled too strongly of sterile detergent. That, though, he knew was too much to hope for.

Not trusting his smaller friend to handle his broken body with the gentle caress it deserved, he heaved a shaky breath, and resigned to do what he could, at least. Biting back a groan from the pain that tore through his twisting side, Steve forced arms that must have been pumped full of lead weights, up around Danny's neck, and held tightly as the Detective pulled him down from the bed of the truck.

The movement itself wasn't nearly as bad as Steve imagined it should have been. What caught him off guard, was the way his left leg had stiffened so impossibly solid in the length of time it had been since he'd forced himself to move it. A fierce ache knotted in his thigh, balling tighter and tighter as his foot came in contact with the ground. He'd hardly offered any sort of body weight at all to the wounded limb, but even that had him buckling, his body falling stiffly into Danny's outstretched arms.

Danny grunted under the mass, hands against his partner's chest to push the bigger man up from crushing him. "Easy, there, Walrus. How strong do you think I am."

As Steve's fingers dug deeply into Danny's shoulders, he could feel his partner shaking. "Sorry." He mumbled. Though it took more effort than he thought he had, he pushed backward and teetered, unbalanced, on his own. Perhaps a bit later than necessary, he lessened his grip and Danny unconsciously rolled back aching shoulders.

Steve wasn't aware of much, past the blinding pain of every twisted movement. He may have been only three short steps away from the door leading into the cab of the truck, but it felt like hours—and non-survivable degrees of agony—before he found himself sitting awkward and stiff, on the passenger side of the bench seat. His right hand dug fiercely into his wounded side, willing that the grip would strangle the pain from the hole, now seeping darkened blood once more. His left hand fumbled with the shirt, all but completely stained red, still tied around his thigh, as if it's pressure were all that caused his pain there. If he could just pull it off, he'd feel better, he knew.

Danny was at his side, trying in vain to keep his pain-locked arms from inflicting more damage to himself, but Steve couldn't make out what he was saying over the roar of his heartbeat inside his head. His lips were parted, jaws clenched to near breaking, and he forced angry, labored gasps through the small spaces between his teeth. Danny's hand brushed sweat from his pale forehead, but he jerked away from the touch, eyes squeezing shut as he growled in agony.

"C'mon, man, this is hard enough without you making things worse. I'm just trying to help. Steve!" The more his partner spoke, the deeper the words penetrated, until finally, Steve could make some small sense of Danny's worried mumbles.

Forcing thick swallows through a pain-constricted throat, Steve willed that his body be still. _In. Out. In. Out._ The gasps began, slowly, to resemble something more close to breathing. After an impossibly long moment, Steve opened his eyes. He still stared, unfocused, at the sagging liner above his head, but the stars that swam in his vision seemed to be slowing, at least. He swallowed again, working his mouth to ease the strain his clamped jaws had caused.

Danny spoke again, "Breathe, Steve." A desperation littered his tone. The Navy SEAL risked a glace into eyes that raged in stormy fear. "Just breathe." And Steve did.


	14. Chapter 14

***** H50 Chapter 14 *****

Steve didn't know how long he sat like that, trying not to pass out, while Danny buckled the seat belt into place, stuffing his own jacket over the still-oozing wound and mumbling something about hoping the belt's pressure would help to staunch the crimson flow. To Steve, it had felt both hours and only minutes. He supposed he might never know. In any case, eventually, Grace climbed into the truck beside him, buckling her own seat belt and trying desperately to look anywhere but at his riddled body. Danny shut his door and walked around the front of the cab to the driver's side. The old engine roared to life, and the truck made its way none to smoothly along the rough jungle road.

They sat, all of them silent, for such a time that Steve wondered if anyone would ever talk again. He leaned his sweaty forehead against the cool glass of the window beside him, and watched the deep greens of bushes, ferns, and small trees pass by in a blur. Now that the move from the truck bed into the cab was far enough behind him, Steve's awareness had regenerated so that he could think and breathe more clearly. The risk of shock a thankfully distant concern.

"What happened, Danny? What went wrong, out here?" Even to his own ears, his hollow voice sounded too loud. Grace flinched beside him, startled by the sudden start of conversation. He tried to put a comforting hand to hers, which dug into the edge of the seat between them in a white-knuckled grip, but she quickly pulled it back, blinking as she turned her head away from him.

Steve sighed, shattered more by the emotional pain he'd caused his favorite little girl, than by any physical discomfort he felt. He readjusted the seat belt holding the jacket pinned against his open wound and looked sideways at his partner. Danny's face was set in a way that suggested maybe answering the question wasn't very likely. Steve was about to give up, rest his aching head back against the window, when Danny cleared his throat.

That was usually a good indicator that a comment was to follow. Only, the Detective remained silent. Steve tried again. "Three junior detectives—Duke's men. And you. Duke's men didn't turn on you?"

Danny shook his head. Well that was a start. Steve asked, "What then? Were you expecting anyone else to be here?"

The look on his partner's face mirrored that of a child caught in an act that required a confession where he wasn't sure the kind of consequence that would follow. Steve should have told Danny that it didn't matter. Whatever had happened, it was over—or, he hoped it was, anyway. All they could do now, was figure out how to combat the effects. But Danny didn't look in a mood to accept comfort. Steve got that. To be honest, he wasn't really in a mood to offer it. He just wanted to know what had gone wrong.

"Danny." His voice was firm. Assuming every ounce of commanding leadership he could muster, Steve asked again. "What happened here?"

"I don't know, Steve." The Jersey detective closed his eyes for a brief moment, hands flexing in their grip on the wheel. Just when Steve decided his partner wasn't going to say anything more, Danny continued. "I met Duke at the station. He introduced me to his three young detectives, and he drove us out here. I thought I was just going to walk them through some field training; ya know, tracking and navigating dense jungle brush, spotting signs of enemy encampments, what to look for, how to react. The sort of stuff you teach us."

And Steve was reminded that the police sergeant had first asked Steve himself to perform the training operation. But Steve had felt, at the time, that his guidance was better lent to the task-force who seemed close to a major breakthrough on their current case; one that Danny hadn't had much influence over. In truth, it had been more of an excuse, at the time, because Steven simply didn't _want_ to help the junior detectives. He knew that Danny suspected that, and was more than thankful his partner chose not to bring it up now. Couldn't it be enough that he _felt_ sorry without actually having to say as much?

Danny continued his story. "As we drove, Duke informed us that some officers were visiting from the mainland, and would meet us out there. They wanted to learn some of our tricks, to take them back for working their own operations, stateside. We didn't think much of it at the time. When we got there, Duke introduced us all, he seemed to know them well, everything checked out. Even the first few hours of training went right."

Here, Danny paused. It was as if he were replaying the scenario in his head, searching for some way to have known how it would all play out. Steve knew that look; maybe a little too well. The thing was, no matter how many times a soldier's seen it, or had it himself, there wasn't a thing that could be said to make it go away. All Steve could do was wait, and hope that Danny would finish his story. A number of ferns and bushes passed by in a hazy blur before the detective spoke again.

"Sometime after lunch, a military convoy vehicle showed up. Soldiers piled out either side, guns drawn, and opened fire on us. Two of the junior detectives were killed right there. Me and the other guy dove out of the way and were able to take cover in the jungle thick. The soldiers pursued us, and we got separated. I have no idea what ever happened to him." Though Steve could tell by his tone of voice, he knew exactly what had most likely happened. "I don't know anything about them, so don't ask. All I know for sure is, they seemed to know the mainland officers we had met there that morning. But once I ran for cover, my only focus was trying to stay alive."

"As it should have been." Steve offered. But Danny's story posed a hundred different questions. How much planning had gone into this ambush? Was it all merely the unlucky timing of a flash-flood misfortune, or had this plan been in motion even before Duke scheduled the training? Where did these mainland soldiers get their orders? And for what gain? And what sort of aftermath would the island face now that Steve had shown up and thrown a wrench into everything. But that wasn't fair. Danny had stirred the hornet's nest quite a bit all on his own. These soldiers' plan had begun to crumble from nearly the moment it began.

Steve sighed. It was infuriating, the way his thoughts bounced around inside his throbbing head, each fighting for precedence. The problem was, that Danny had just told Steve all he knew for certain, so asking any of these questions wasn't going to get him any solid answers. And Steve didn't feel physically up for the task of navigating speculation. He looked at the set line of his partner's jaw, the tight grip of the wheel, the furrow in Danny's brow, and he knew his friend felt the same way.

A sudden dip in the road lurched the truck downward, tossing all three of them against their seat belts unexpectedly. The force of the pressure into the shaft that still protruded from Steve's abdomen tore a pain so great through his middle that he cried out, curling around himself in agony. He thought he heard Danny's muffled voice and a shriek from Grace beside him, but he couldn't focus. Every breath like another punch as his lungs fought to open. Teeth clenched and eyes wide, staring without sight at the floor of the old pick-up. He panted, more than breathed; a staccato of strangled grunts echoing hollowly inside his ears.

A small hand pushed up on his hunching shoulder, but he didn't move. He could feel his conscience fading. A stronger grip, larger, more firm—must have been Danny—but Steve didn't want his help. He didn't want this pain anymore, he was tired. So tired. He let the hurt flood his thoughts, let its darkness sweep his mind away. Until there was only nothing.


	15. Chapter 15

***** H50 Chapter 15 *****

"I know, Grace, but you have to check." Danny's voice quavered. She argued with him. He argued back. "If you don't check, I'll stop this truck and check myself. But those men are out there, Grace. And if they catch up to us, we're _all_ dead."

"I don't want to. I can't..."

"You can. I'm sorry that you have to, baby, but you can. You can..." He let the thought hang, as if giving it time to convince them both.

Danny reached across his daughter and shook his partner's shoulder one more time; the closest he could come to wrist or neck. Still nothing. "Damnit, Steve. I swear, if you don't open your eyes right now—if you're not already dead, I'm gonna kill you myself. Don't do this to me. Steve!"

Did he hear a groan? He shook the Navy SEAL harder. It was faint, but yes, that was the sweet sound of life. "Hey!" The truck swerved some as Danny nudged his partner's arm. "Hey, buddy, look at me. C'mon, look at me, Steve."

As feverish eyes fluttered open, Danny turned back to the road, trying to carefully correct the truck's trajectory. He felt Grace shift uncomfortably beside him and he wished, for the thousandth time, she wasn't mixed up in all this. It surprised him to hear her speak.

"Are you okay, Uncle Steve?" Her tone was soft, but with a confidence that she could handle his response, whatever it might be.

Danny, apparently, could not. When Steve's thready voice asked her weakly, "Are you?" a moisture threatened the edges of his tired eyes.

"Yeah." She said, and she placed a hand over his, which gripped the edge of the bench seat tightly. "Compared to you, I think we're all doing fine."

Danny's quick glance caught the edges of his partner's lips upturn, and he smiled too. Even scared as he knew she was, Danny couldn't have been more proud of the courage his daughter had shown. Or of the love that Steve obviously had for her—even despite marching her so recklessly into Hell itself.

They rode for a time, none of them talking, but each more content than not to feel a semblance of security from the comfort they had in one another. They were going to drive this rusty steam engine out of the wild jungle, back to Steve's truck where they could call for help, and onward toward home, putting this whole nightmare adventure farther than Pluto behind them.

Danny turned his head to regard his partner and sighed. "How ya holding up?" He asked. "Gonna make it?"

"Yeah, Danny. M'Good."

"Good. You just keep it that way, alright?"

Grace laughed quietly between them. "He's fine, Danno. Can't you see, he's fine? Uncle Steve can survive anything."

"And I'm thinking you can, too, Gracie." Pride dripped from the Navy SEAL's words, so richly that Danny could almost see it. And he felt proud, too.

They drove in comfortable silence for what seemed like hours, though more realistically it could have been even less than one. Steve nodded in and out of consciousness—Danny hoped, more from exhaustion than from the severity of any injuries—and the afternoon sun trailed them slowly out the passenger window. If the marsh's entrance didn't show up soon, he'd have to find a way to shield his partner's sweaty face from being burned through the glass.

There was hardly enough time to chase the thought with any semblance of a formidable plan, when the tall cab of Steve's blue Chevy came into view above a small rise. Danny slowed, unsure what might be waiting for them on the other side.

He nudged Grace's arm and lifted a finger to his lips. His brows rose as he nodded for her to wake Steve quietly. A soft grunt filled the old pick-up's stuffy cab as the Navy SEAL came to. Groggy eyes met Danny's own and even through his partner's pain, he caught his own apprehension mirrored there. His throat was dry as he tried to swallow.

"Weapons?" Steve asked, a determined bark clipping the word short.

"My pistol, your pistol—" Danny simultaneously placed a hand on his holster and glanced to his partner's hip to make certain what he said was true. "—And Big Bertha out back." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder as the truck veered slightly off course.

"Ammo?" Steve held an empty magazine in his right hand, which trembled some with the effort.

Danny nodded his agreement. "I'm out too. And I shot the last of the cannon rounds yesterday, when Grace was still driving." _Yesterday?_ Had it really been that long? He heard his partner sigh and risked another glace.

Steve shrugged. "Can see the top of my truck..." The way his voice carried softly through the still cab made it clear his was struggling to stay focused.

Grace piped up. "Nothing else, though... We can't see any army trucks or the tops of any other vehicles. And I don't hear nothing, either."

"You're right." Danny patted her knee in encouragement. "That's some fine detective work, Ms. Williams." He exaggerated a rich Jersey accent and she smiled.

"You think we should go for it?"

"Do you?" Danny raised an eyebrow at her in question.

But it was Steve who answered. "We get killed, or we get outta this swamp... either one sounds good to me."

The pain that laced his words made Danny's stomach curl. _Just a little further, bud. One more hitch and we're home free._ Without wasting another second, he eased the old pick-up forward up the rise and into the clearing beyond.

What they found on the other side could almost have been considered a let-down. All the hype and all their tapping into whatever physical and emotional strength they had left to prepare for a potential disaster—only to be met with nothing.

Well, that wasn't entirely true, Danny amended. They found a _little_ more than nothing. There were overturned rocks and broken limbs from jungle ferns and small trees. There were hundreds of spent shell casings littering the moist dirt, a few dead bodies even kind enough to vigilantly house the projectiles that had come from those casings. And Steve's pick-up, of course.

Though, in it's current state, Danny might have wondered if 'nothing' was, in fact, an appropriate observation for it. Nothing of use or helpful in aiding their rescue, anyway. All four tires were blown; the windows all shattered, leaving tiny shards of glass dangerously blanketing the ripped up seats inside; wires under the dash had been pulled out and the steering column broken in such a way that the steering wheel hung limply, its face aimed at the floor. But what concerned Danny most of all, was the dark pool of who knew what kind of liquids that stained the jungle dirt beneath the truck. One quick glance at the bullet holes that riddled the vehicle's vital insides, it's hood having been mercilessly torn from its hinges, and Danny knew there would be no driving that pick-up, ever again.

"I hope you weren't too attached to your truck, pal..." He meant it as a joke, but in truth, he really did feel a little bad. If not for any other reason then that Steve now had yet another excuse to drive Danny's Camaro, whether or not he gave permission.

"I hope _this_ truck has the gas to get us the hell outta here."

Danny forced his eyes away from his partner—who hunched forward in his seat, body tense with pain—to look down at the fuel gauge on the dash. It was either broken and didn't read right, or they were already running on fumes. He'd never been much of a praying man before, but Danny was willing to try anything to get his friend the help he needed. _Please, God...if you're there, let this truck make it home._

About ten minutes later, the plucky old pick-up was still going strong, and Steve's phone made a chirp in Grace's pocket. Somehow—another miracle, he guessed—it had maintained battery life, and now, apparently, it was back in service. He had Grace dial 9-1-1 before handing it to him, and he pinned it between his right ear and shoulder so both hands could work to keep the truck steady.

When dispatch answered though, Danny was surprised to find out EMTs were already headed to their location. 5-O, it appeared, had pinged the phone the second it activated cell towers, and their team sent the Calvary, ready for anything. Danny wasn't sure, just yet, exactly how long they'd been unreachable, but apparently, it had been enough to warrant playing all the cards. He wasn't complaining, of course. Not in the slightest. When the med-bus intercepted them, not fifteen minutes later, Danny couldn't possibly have been more grateful for the high-leveled resources they had at their disposal.

What he wasn't grateful for, was yet another reminder that his daughter may have quite possibly just lived through the most trying event of her life. His heart broke as he held her shoulders back, her hand clinging tightly to Steve's as he lay strapped to a gurney. The paramedic began to pull him away. She gripped tighter. Danny gripped tighter.

"Why can't I ride with him?!" she cried, her arm stretching out to keep the contact.

"Let him go, baby. We'll see him again at the hospital. Gracie, he needs their help right now, you gotta let go."

Tears streamed her face. She shook her head no. Words blubbered miserably as she tried to speak. "Thank you for protecting me." Her hand stretched further.

Steve, Danny noticed, wasn't letting go, either. He offered the smallest hint of a smile through the fatigue that etched so deeply into his dirty face. "We'll be right behind you, buddy. Okay, Gracie? Right behind him."

Their hands broke free. Grace lunged forward to follow. Danny held her back, her shoulders shaking as she cried. Paramedics wheeled the gurney up the ramp of the ambulance. "I love you, Uncle Steve!" She yelled. And the back doors of the bus slammed shut.

Grace turned around, and Danny wrapped her in his arms. The fear and exhaustion had finally boiled over; she sobbed into his shirt and he held her tightly, so very sorry for it all, but so very much more thankful that they both stood safely here now to be able to cry about it. He whispered through her tears, but whether or not she heard what he said, he didn't know. It didn't matter though. He kissed the top of her head, just glad that she was okay.


	16. Chapter 16

***** H50 Chapter 16 *****

Steve _hurt_. Everywhere. In his head, his face, his chest, his side, his leg...he wouldn't have been surprised if his toenails hurt! But, he had to admit, the pain was much less than it had been the last time he'd been conscious. He could feel his limbs heavy with narcotics, and he was thankful for modern medicine to combat the knack he seemed to have for himself, always finding his way too deeply into trouble.

The soft hum of forced air through a cooling duct, and the steady beep of some monitor or another somewhere off to his right told Steve that he must be in some sort of hospital. He opened his eyes, slowly. A blurry Grace Williams came into view.

She was perched on the edge of his bed, her body perpendicular to his as she spoke softly with her father, who sat in a chair a few feet away. Steve was half tempted to close his eyes again, and listen in on their conversation. But his partner caught him spying before he got the chance.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. We thought you might _never_ wake up." Danny's tone was dry, sarcastic like it was a waste of time to still be sitting there. Steve smiled. He knew the opposite was true.

As her father spoke, Grace turned quickly to look at Steve. Their eyes locked, and he hoped she wouldn't misread his expression. He hoped he wouldn't misread _hers_... After a few seconds, her shoulders slumped and she heaved a quiet sigh, obviously relieved that he was alright. He flecked a quick peek at her wrist, which was wrapped simply in a skin-toned ACE bandage. And he sighed, too. He was glad to see the same of her, in return.

Then, like a lightning strike, her body stiffened. She balled her fists into the white sheets she still sat atop. Her brow furrowed, angry eyes glared daggers into him that all the medication in the world couldn't mask the pain of. "That was a pretty _stupid_ thing you did, taking me out there like that." He recoiled from the heat of her words, eyes darting from her, to Danny, and back to her again.

Grace kept talking, her voice rising just shy of a yell. "You could have gotten us _all_ killed... You know what?" He swallowed. He didn't, actually, know what, but he was fairly certain he didn't want to, either. "I'll tell you what..." She stood now, her whole body facing him as she towered over his bedside. Never had he felt as small as, just then, the way he drowned in her angry shadow. "You're gonna make a pretty lousy parent, some day." She said, coldly. "And, I'm _never_ going to drive you anywhere, ever again, Uncle Steve." She stormed from the room, but he didn't feel like he could breathe again until well after the slamming sound of the heavy hospital door echoed off the bare white walls.

"I don't understand..." He worked his mouth, open, then closed, then open again, head cocked, brows knit, as he tried to work through her outburst. When he caught the gaze of his partner, Steve could have punched him, for all the grin that plastered the Detective's face. "I thought she was thankful..." Steve cried. "She said she _loved_ me! What did I do wrong?!"

"She's a teenager, Pal. They hate everyone. " Danny laid a sympathetic hand on his friend's shoulder and told the man to take it easy. "The fact that she's real with you, actually, means opposite, you know..."

Because _that_ makes sense? Steve shook his head and forced the tension from his trembling arms. His head was pounding and he knew none of this was helping his aching body recover. He inhaled a slow, deep breath, and looked toward the door that Grace had disappeared behind.

Danny poked his finger gently into the muscle of Steve's arm and said, "You're a pretty important part of her life, and don't ever think you're not. She'll come around. She's just gotta get back at you for scaring her. That's all."

Steve guessed that might make sense. He shifted painfully on his bed, unable to mask the wince that tweaked his face, and asked boldly, "Does this mean I'm forgiven for letting her drive the getaway car?"

"Forgiven?!" Danny's grip intensified, his whole hand now digging into his partner's shoulder. "Steven. In this lifetime or a hundred others, I will _never_ forgive you for that."

Steve swallowed hard, but as Danny turned to walk away, he caught just the ghost of a smile at the corner of the Jersey cop's lips, and he smiled, too. Finally, he was able to relax. A full breath escaped his lungs, and he drew another in slowly. Yeah. He was gonna be alright. He and Gracie were gonna be alright. And he and Danny? Well, when had they _ever_ been alright?!

The Navy SEAL let his heavy eyelids drift closed, weighted by the love and support from that family. _His_ family. And how he cherished them.

 **The End.**

* * *

 _ **At over 20,000 words, its the longest story I've ever written to completion... Thanks so much for sticking with me till then end. I hope you enjoyed what you read! Your comments and reviews are more than welcomed, I'd love to hear your thoughts!**_

 _ **Happy reading, fellow fans!**_


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